


Blood Wine

by LittleLinor



Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor 2
Genre: Bloodplay, Consensual Kink, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-23 23:20:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1583108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLinor/pseuds/LittleLinor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yamato isn't sure why Daichi keeps opening himself to him like this, but he's much too good at making him cast away his hesitation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Wine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tonake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonake/gifts).



> Post-canon mild AU, established relationship, believe me it takes them a good long while to reach a point where they're that healthy. I JUST WANTED TO WRITE BLOODPLAY FLUFF OKAY.

"Shijima," he sighed. "Why are you doing this?"  
Daichi chuckled, the short, breathy quality of it betraying the anxious reflexive acceleration Yamato had picked up a second ago. He looked up from where he was, lying back on his elbows on their freshly covered bed, his eyes already too wide for his relaxed pose to be convincing.  
"Define 'this.'"  
Yamato put his knife down, leaned over him, and lay a hand on his chest. Under his fingers, his pulse came fast and erratic.  
"You're scared."  
"Yeah."  
"So why did you agree to this?"  
"Maybe I like being scared?"  
He snorted.  
"That is no news to me." Daichi grinned. He shot him a stern look, and was mildly offended when it only made him laugh quietly. "There's more to it."  
Daichi's face softened.  
"I'm _curious_ , Yamato. And you want to."  
Yamato frowned. Denying it would be a lie.  
"Are you doing this for my sake?"  
"Only sort of. I mean." He leant back on his elbows in a way Yamato now had enough experience to identify as seductive. Part of him bristled as his body responded. "I like it when you challenge me."  
He sighed again, purposefully ignoring the way his heart sped up at those words, and picked up his blade, casually bringing it to rest against Daichi's throat.  
Daichi swallowed, making the tip graze against his skin.  
"Are you sure you don't want to be tied up for this?" Yamato asked him.  
"I'm good."  
His chest was still rising higher and faster than it usually did, but his eyes were stable, secure. Yamato took in a slow breath and twisted his knife, running its spine up his throat, its tip grazing a reddening line until it stopped under his chin. He pushed it up carefully, tilting Daichi's head back.  
"Lie down, then."  
He expected some kind of joke, but all that came was a shaky breath and a quiet, obedient "yes" before Daichi lowered himself to the matress, the tip of Yamato's knife guiding him down with its gentle pressure.

Suspended above him, he found himself, to his own surprise, hesitating. Not that he had doubts about going along with it, far from it, but the _how_ was eluding him. Where should he cut for maximum effect? Or would taking his time to tease him be more effective? His eyes travelled over Daichi's body, until they drifted back to his face and Yamato found himself caught, half frustrated and half excited by the questioning smile in Daichi's eyes.  
He brought his free hand to Daichi's face, combing his fingertips into the roots of his hair before burying his hand in it, gripping and pulling it back suddenly, his other hand pressing the blade against his sternum in a shallow but bloody line.  
Daichi's eyes crashed open wide, pushed up by the harsh breath he pulled in through his teeth. They kept flitting around wildly, his teeth biting down on his lip, until Yamato finally released the pressure and he the breath he'd been holding.  
Yamato brushed some of the tension away from his temple with his thumb, and he completely unwound, laughing weakly and resting his head into Yamato's hold.  
"Yeah," he answered Yamato's silent question. "Yeah."

Yamato took the opportunity to check on his general state. He hadn't made any dangerous movements--that was what Yamato had feared, what he was always on the lookout for. His hands, previously clenched around the sheets, were now lying curled but relaxed on the bed, and although his legs had folded up, he was still safely anchored at the hips by Yamato's body.  
Good.  
Slowly enough to give him time to brace himself, he brought the knife back down and pressed. Daichi's breath shuddered at the contact, and his eyes fluttered shut in concentration as Yamato cut a smaller but deeper line next to the first one. Blood seeped up with the pressure, clinging to the blade even as Yamato raised it. He stroked the back of Daichi's scalp, releasing some of his hold, and Daichi's eyes opened, blinking for a couple of seconds until Yamato brought the blade closer to his face.  
"Good. Looks like I won't have to restrain you after all."  
His tone had been matter of fact, almost cold, but the shade of a tired smile still pulled at the corner of Daichi's lips.  
"Told you."  
Yamato shot him a disaproving look, smearing blood on Daichi's cheek with his knife before licking what was left off the blade.  
"Don't take that tone with me, Shijima."  
Daichi's "yes sir" was much, much too fond, but he decided to ignore it, and instead bent closer to his face.  
"So. How far can you go?"  
"I... don't know?" His voice was almost disarming with honesty, and Yamato found himself cursing the feelings that brought in him again. "We can try... You can push me."  
"Hmmm..." He held back the urge to frown. He disliked uncertainty, especially in matters like these (there were things he did not want to damage, no matter what), but the possibilities... the exploration was also fascinating in itself. Maybe Daichi had a point. "We shall see, then."

Daichi grinned, then bit the corner of his lip when Yamato's fingers pressed down on his cut, tracing the opened skin to the top. Blood welled around his fingertips. He hesitated, then brought them back down, pressing a little harder and drawing a shaky moan out of Daichi. His chest tightened, sped up. He bit the inside of his own lip, trying to kep his febrile excitement from showing, and dragged his fingers up again.  
Under him, Daichi's hips almost jerked.  
His fingers were covered in blood. Slowly, gently, deliberately, he combed them through Daichi's hair, smearing it over both hair and scalp.  
"You know," he mused, an almost convincing picture of idleness, "I find myself wishing I had more arms."  
"Huh? What for?"  
"Tying you up might make things less interesting... but I would love to be able to hold you down while I do this."  
Daichi's eyes sparkled.  
"You would."  
Yamato combed his fingers through his hair once more and bent down closer to him, biting into his earlobe and gripping his hair tightly before murmuring "I like feeling you strain" into his ear.  
Daichi froze, taking Yamato by surprise, then shuddered from head to toe, all the way down his body, his eyes sliding almost shut. When his voice came, it was weak, breathless, pleading.  
"Yamato..."  
It was much more than he'd expected, and he tried to stall by nibbling on his ear again, pulling on his hair a little tighter.  
"Yamato, _please_..."  
He hissed, air rushing between his clenched teeth. Daichi did not _beg_ , not unprompted. For him to do it now... His heart sprained and locked, for a second, and before he knew it he was sitting back up and gripping his knife, grazing its tip along Daichi's collarbone, half-teasing half-warning.  
He cut down, and Daichi cried out, making every one of Yamato's nerves pulse, from heart to groin to his barely steady fingers.  
When he raised his knife, Daichi's eyelids followed his movement, his eyes heavy, loving and intense. He let go of the sheets at his sides and slowly pulled his arms up, past his shoulders and over his head, eyes holding Yamato's own as his wrists crossed each other, palms and pulse up.  
It took Yamato a second to understand before he bent forward and gripped them, pinning them into the bed.

The position, he found out, wasn't the most practical. It forced him to move some of his weight to his arm (which made pinning Daichi down easier, but was much more of a strain), and made his hold on Daichi's hips less secure. Considering there was no way he was going to give up on something so graciously offered, though, he compromised by shifting slightly upwards on Daichi's body, hugging his waist instead of his hips.  
Daichi sighed, trembling slightly, and Yamato ran his thumb along the side of his palm.  
"You're doing surprisingly well."  
The words caught Daichi's attention. His eyes drifted up to meet Yamato's (closer, now, with him half-bent to keep him pinned), and he stared into them, blushing as his brain finally processed Yamato's words.  
He picked up his knife again with his free hand and continued.  
"I didn't expect you to show such resilience..." He cut, horizontally this time, highlighting the curve of Daichi's rib in an arc of bright red. "... or such courage, for that matter."  
The next rib, too fast for him to react, and Daichi's whimper was almost synchronised with the darkening of his cheeks (red too, now, even without the blood smeared on them).  
"I--" A gasp. "... it's not that much."  
"It is," Yamato countered, slicing a third line. In his other hand, Daichi's wrists ground against each other, not even trying to escape him but just fighting to handle sensation. "But then again, I shouldn't be surprised. I've had plenty of evidence that you are."  
A fourth cut, and any further protest was cut short as Daichi just breathed in, slow and shaky, the flesh of his chest almost humming against Yamato's blade. He looked pained and pleasured and bashful and happy at the same time, too far gone to sort through the feelings and emotions, just trusting himself into Yamato's hands. It made Yamato want to just kiss him, let go of everything and just kiss him until he's breathless and trembling, but he had wrists in one hand and a knife in the other, and he might as well get the most of them.  
Slowly, making sure it was far enough to avoid any accidents, he put his knife down on the bed and bent forward, curling his back and stretching his arm until his lips came into contact with Daichi's skin, and the blood welling on it. Daichi's chest vibrated under his lips, something between a hum and a whimper. Blood smeared on his lips, warm and wet. He opened them and let it reach the tip of his tongue, tasted it until his breath caught in his throat with excitement. He exhaled against Daichi's flesh and skin, and felt him shiver under his lips.  
Slow and deliberately short, he ran his tongue against the opened skin, then pulled back before he could lose control. There was no point in non-verbal communication if he didn't wait for freely given answers to his questions, after all. But where he was half-dreading, half-hoping to be stopped, Daichi hummed and arched into him a little.  
Like a bowstring springing back into place, he went back down and drew his tongue along the entire cut, pressing down hard and pulling the edges apart. Daichi jerked once, pulling at his wrists before burrying himself deeper into the mattress. The taste of blood spread in Yamato's mouth. He licked his lips (were they really this _wet_ ) and pressed down again, with opened lips and tongue and just a hint of pressure with his teeth, a slow, heated kiss that he barely kept himself from biting into. Daichi shuddered, and Yamato was the one to almost moan, this time. He opted to tighten his hold on his wrists instead.

He moved up slightly until his lips encountered another snag and his tongue tasted blood again. He was gentler this time, exploring the cut not just for its own, but because it tasted, in a way he couldn't quite explain, like Daichi himself. A familiar flavour to his skin, something in the scent of his blood that went beyond his palpable senses to tighten his throat and chest with a warm, tugging, bittersweet need. He let his lips brush, vainly hunt down the source of the elusive scent. Moved again, and this time his mouth was passionate again, hungry in its path across Daichi's slit skin.  
By the time he found himself suckling at the edge of the next cut, some of the urgency had ebbed away, and his mind was somewhat clearer. He gave another kiss, all gentle lips and no tongue.  
Daichi didn't respond. Daichi hadn't been responding, aside from trembling, for--he scrambled for his sense of time as he let go of Daichi's wrists and moved back up to his face, poise forgotten.  
His eyes were closed--almost, he corrected, almost closed but completely unfocused. For a couple of seconds, he didn't see him breathing either, until his chest took in a deep but brief inhale, then released it between half-open lips.  
" _Daichi!_ "  
He burried his fingers in Daichi's hair, cupping his head and nudging at the back of his scalp, and Daichi's eyes opened, slowly, bringing a small smile as they blinked in recognition.  
"Yamato."  
Tension drained out of his neck as instantly as it had come, and he let his face fall against Daichi's, forehead to forehead.  
Daichi blinked again, seemed to gather his wits and realise why Yamato had suddenly been clinging to him.  
"'m fine, Yamato." He shifted a little and pecked the corner of Yamato's lips.  
Before he could move back, Yamato hardened his hold on his head and kissed him, lips to bloody lips, tongue pressing in and meeting his, constrasting the taste of his mouth with that of his blood and skin. Daichi let out a surprised moan, then slowly--very slowly--brought one of his hands to rest on the nape of Yamato's neck, combing its way into his hair.  
Warmth spread into him even as his fingers tightened; warmth under Daichi's hand, and into his very chest. There was something desperate, he knew, in the way he clung to him, as if to absorb him into his very heart. Part of him bristled at the idea, but another part, the one that pictured empty hands and lost warmth, just made his heart clench harder.  
He was done for, and he knew it.  
Daichi's fingers moved through his hair, and he pushed distracting revelations aside to focus on them instead.

He broke the kiss when Daichi started gasping for air into it, and moved back a little to look at him.  
He still looked dazed, and the forceful kiss probably didn't help, with the way he was still catching his breath. But it wasn't the kind of daze he'd learnt to see and ignore back when the world was falling apart, the apathetic numbness of those who've given up in the face of pain and despair. Daichi looked... serene, somehow, abandoned, almost out of reach, if not for his eyes smiling back at him and the hand still on Yamato's neck.  
His mouth was still relaxed in a smile, and Yamato caught himself staring at the blood his kiss had smeared on it.  
It was _everywhere_ , he realised, eyes flitting from his lips to the rest of his face. Red on his lips, red on his cheeks, drying red streaks in the roots of his hair. He'd painted him in his own blood as if the cuts in his flesh weren't marking enough, and Daichi...  
Daichi looked _beautiful_ in it, wearing blood and rapture like so much jewelry, and for a moment Yamato had to struggle with the idea that he'd been the one to cause it.

"You're staring."  
Daichi's voice, quiet as it was, snapped him out of his contemplation.  
"How are you feeling?"  
He chuckled.  
"Everything hurts." Yamato frowned, but before he could answer, Daichi smiled and continued. "It's not a bad feeling. Strangely good. Like my whole body's buzzing from it."  
"... should I continue, then?" he asked after a moment of hesitation. "Or have I challenged you enough for today?"  
"Are _you_ enjoying it?"  
His quick glance away was apparently enough of an answer, because Daichi's smile widened.  
"Then keep going."  
"Don't regret this later."  
"I won't." He paused, blushed. "Just don't be surprised if I space out again."  
Yamato nodded. He was definitely expecting it, now that he knew to look for it; Daichi seemed to have been hovering on the edge of it for the entire conversation.  
"All right."  
He let go of Daichi's head and ran his hands down his sides, pressing nails into his skin. Daichi breathed in and out, deep and slow, curling and relaxing his back as they went.  
"... mind if I keep my hand there?" he asked, rubbing lightly at Yamato's scalp.  
"I don't, as long as you don't pull me down. I can't risk making a wrong movement."  
"I'll be careful."  
"Then fine."  
He reached for his knife, and traced it along Daichi's chest, blunt edge first, to take away the element of surprise, and pressed it against his ribcage, still not breaking the skin. Daichi shivered, hand tightening in Yamato's hair, and pressed his back into the mattress in anticipation.

This time, as he sliced along the curve of Daichi's rib, his only answer was a deep, shaky sigh. He traced it with his fingers to make blood well up, and an idea struck him.  
Slowly enough not to lose his balance, he brought his other hand to the left part of Daichi's chest, and pressed down on his heart, disturbing his breathing slightly and feeling its heavy beat under his skin.  
Daichi murmured his name, fond and dreamy. Yamato smiled (why not, after all, there was no one to watch him, not even Daichi himself) and scratched at his skin gently with his fingernails as he cut down with the other hand. His fingernails caught on drying blood and brought bright red blood again to cover the darkening brown one, and Daichi gave a little whimper, shifting just slightly to press his skin against Yamato's fingers, his own hand rubbing into Yamato's scalp.  
He pressed down again, making Daichi gasp, and focused on his other hand to cut again, deeper, taking his time. Skin split, slowly, and the slower he went, the closer to sobs Daichi's wimpers came as he struggled to stay down and not jerk, his skin quivering with shudders instead and his hand clenching into Yamato's hair. Yamato massaged at his heart, soothing and pressuring, until his knife was on Daichi's stomach and he stopped, his heart beating just as fast, just as erraticaly as Daichi's, and looked at his face to find a few tears drawing trails through the red on his cheeks.  
"Daichi," he called, putting his knife away for good and bending close to his face again.  
"Yeah." His voice was shaky but peaceful, and he finally let himself pull down on Yamato's head to bring him close.  
"We're done." And then, surprising even himself with earnestness: "You've been very good."  
Daichi laughed, his chest moving almost silently. Yamato allowed himself to kiss him, and felt his heart clench at the happy smile shining through the daze on his face, like a lighthouse through fog.  
He pressed fingers against the last cut, and Daichi cried out and clung to him, finally able to let go without restraining his movements, head tilted back, pressing Yamato against his lacerated skin. He kept pressing until Daichi quietened down, rubbing circles against his bloodied skin, and every time he pulled one way or the other, Daichi's answering fingers pulled against his tangled hair.

When he finally stopped, Daichi's hands weakly pulled him in for a kiss. There was no strength to it, and Yamato had to lead him once again, but he got the message nonetheless, relieved that his efforts were not only appreciated but treasured. Why Daichi kept opening himself to him, he might never fully understand, but by now Yamato was getting used to the idea, to Daichi's happy sighs and relaxed face when he took care of him afterwards, and maybe it was worth the changes he'd put himself through to get there.

"It will hurt just as much when I clean them," he pointed out when Daichi finally opened his eyes properly and smiled at him.  
"I think it's a bit too late to warn me about pain," Daichi replied, his hand finding Yamato's own.


End file.
